


It's not hard to fall

by epersonae



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: But also like in a cannon(ball), Car Sex, F/F, First Time, Oral Sex, Pre-Canon, is it car sex if they're in a cannonball?, two gals sitting in a cannonball five feet apart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-23 20:44:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17087432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epersonae/pseuds/epersonae
Summary: Lucretia and Maureen christen the first cannonball, and Maureen has a realization (or several).(It's just two beautiful smart ladies getting it on. Enjoy.)





	It's not hard to fall

**Author's Note:**

> So in the discord we were talking about the delightful [Vehicle Proficiency](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9191150), and wondered why there isn't more TAZ fic with people fooling around in the cannonballs, and then this happened.
> 
> Title from a song I've actually never heard, but that @hops quoted in the chat when I posted an early draft. (Apparently the full line is "it's not hard to fall/when you float like a cannonball")

The hangar is empty: construction work is done but the Bureau hasn't started operations, so no one is yet needed to fire off the cannonballs or to greet the returning balls. Just Lucretia, alone, looking around this vast space, perhaps finally the culmination of her efforts coming into being. 

And Maureen, standing in the doorway, watching her. 

“What do you think?” Maureen asks. “Is it what you were hoping for?” 

There's a wonder in Lucretia's eyes, that sort of distant surprise she gets sometimes. It's often followed by one of her distracted gloomy spells, but not this time. 

“Mo, it's perfect.” She smiles, that uncommon sparkling grin which lights up her whole face. “ _ You're  _ perfect.”

Maureen blushes. 

“No, come here,” Lucretia replies to the words Maureen hasn't said. Maureen crosses the hangar; Lucretia takes her hand and places it on the surface of the ball. It's cool and smooth to the touch; Lucretia's hand is warm in comparison. “I mean, feel this. We're going to travel, through space, on this beautiful thing that you designed.”

“Lucas helped,” she says, trying to be serious, although being this close to Lucretia makes her a little giddy, as if she were a girl again, 20 years younger. When she looks up from their hands— from Lucretia's hand on hers— Lucretia is looking at her with wide, intense eyes. 

“This is  _ your _ work, you should be recognized for it.”

Maureen laughs, a little: it's not as though any of the work they've all done together will be  _ recognized _ — that's the point, isn't it, to be secret? 

“Well fine then,” says Lucretia. “I’ll recognize you for it, then. At least one person needs to appreciate your brilliance.” She goes serious for a moment, and that’s the Lucretia who Maureen knows best: stern and earnest. She takes Maureen’s hands in hers. “Someday, they’ll know; everyone will know what you did to help save the world. I promise.”

“But what about  _ now?”  _ asks Maureen, a teasing lilt in her voice.

“Why don’t we get in and you can show me how it works,” Lucretia replies, and Maureen swears she sees the hint of a wink. But she does love what they were able to accomplish with the glass balls, her and Lucas, all the late nights and arguing about materials and trajectories; it all came together, ultimately, into something beautiful, and in its own way, practical. She opens the door and slides into the pilot’s seat, explaining how the balls work together with the cannon system, how they’ve built the return balloon into the roof in a way that counterbalances the occupants’ weight.

Lucretia sits beside her, her movements effortlessly stately, and Maureen is glad for the extra effort they put into making the step low enough and the seat high enough that it doesn’t aggravate Lucretia’s knee to get in.

“We’re still working on a recall mechanism, Killian said you wanted some kind of wearable device, although Lucas keeps insisting we could piggyback on a Stone of Farspeech, I don’t know if that’s really—”

She blinks, realizing that Lucretia has one hand on her knee, the other on her arm.

“Lu— Lucretia—” Maureen blushes. She never uses nicknames for Lucretia; she’s tried a couple, and they all bring up that anguished look, and a few (any variant of “Lu” in particular) bring on one of those episodes. But Lucretia is a beautiful name, and majestic, and it suits her so perfectly. “Am I going on too much about the details?”

“Maybe a little, but I don’t mind.” Lucretia smiles, then touches Maureen’s face. Maureen lets out a little surprised sound. “Unfortunate that you had to make these bucket seats,” she continues, and that makes the blood buzz in Maureen’s ears, with Lucretia leaning close, that sly smile, still touching her but just barely.

Maureen licks her lips. “The, uh, the ones, the back seat is a bench?” her voice jumping. “So...if you’re not sure how many….”

“How thoughtful,” says Lucretia, and Maureen is sure that she’s about to laugh, but when she looks, Lucretia’s face is as composed as ever. But then Lucretia bites her lower lip and her eyes flicker to the back bench, and the places where she’s touching Maureen’s knee, her cheek: it’s almost hot, and Maureen’s breath quickens as she follows Lucretia’s gaze. Lucretia’s fingers brush across her lips, and she’s barely coherent enough to babble something about how the door placement facilitates team egress as Lucretia leads her by the hand, out of the ball. The air in the hangar feels cool by contrast, and their footsteps echo as they move to the back seat.

“So, uh, like I said, the back seat is more of a bench to accommodate a range of team sizes and compositions?” Maureen tries to continue where she left off, not knowing how else to proceed. She looks through the front window, then at the brake lever, and out the door, too nervous to look at Lucretia, but painfully aware of her nearness. They're not touching now, and Maureen almost regrets the loss of contact. When she does finally look at Lucretia, there’s a faint— and fond— smile on the other woman’s face.

“A range of...positions?” Lucretia says. “How convenient.”

Maureen blanches in horror of having been misheard. “Comp, compositions, you know like if some of….” And at that Lucretia does actually laugh, putting her hands on Maureen’s knees, and it’s only then that Maureen realizes that she’s actually trembling, she’s so nervous, and she laughs too, then blushes again. “Oh. Oh, you meant…”

“You, silly,” says Lucretia, but it’s tender and kind, and one hand moves to cup Maureen’s face, and she leans forward. Maureen blinks again, barely breathing.

“He-here?” she whispers. Lucretia leans back, pokes her head out of the cannonball’s hatch, then looks back at Maureen.

“Who’s going to say we can’t, Mo?”

Maureen takes a deep breath, laughing a little on the exhale. There’s a million questions on the tip of her tongue— there always have been, with Lucretia, but this is different: questions about  _ them _ and what does this mean, and what changes, and what if, and what if…. She closes her eyes and focuses on Lucretia’s hand on her knee, places her own over it.

The hangar is big and open and empty, and the glass sphere is small and close, just the two of them together, a rare moment alone. She leans forward then, opening her eyes to Lucretia’s face so very close, a smile on her lips, and Maureen realizes again how much she’s wondered what it would be like, and before she can second-guess herself she kisses Lucretia. It’s just the tiniest peck, and even at that: “so soft,” she murmurs.

“Speak for yourself,” Lucretia says, in that low plummy voice that thrills Maureen all the way down to her toes, and then she curls a hand around the back of Maureen’s head, her fingers in Maureen’s hair. The kiss that follows is so hard and fierce that their teeth almost clink together, and Maureen can hardly breathe.

“Lucretia,” is all Maureen can manage after that.

“Gods, I’ve—” Lucretia closes her eyes. Maureen’s surprised at her expression: relief, perhaps, and a touch of hidden grief, but then that smile, and she presses her forehead against Maureen’s. “Do you know how beautiful you are, Maureen?”

“Me?” she squeaks.

Lucretia chuckles, gently pushing Maureen back against the seat. “Yes, you, my beautiful mad scientist, in your lab coat—” She pushes said garment off of Maureen’s shoulders, runs her hands down Maureen’s sides. “—and these practical pants—” She rolls her eyes, but with a smile, as her fingertips reach the khaki waistband, and Maureen gasps at Lucretia’s touch, Lucretia tugging her shirt out, Lucretia’s fingers dancing at her waist. “Damn pants,” she murmurs, and then, her eyes serious, “May I?”

Maureen can hardly breathe, let alone speak, but it feels important to tell Lucretia  _ yes, please by all the gods yes,  _ so she nods and starts to lift her hips. But instead of bothering with the buttons, Lucretia mutters an incantation, makes an arcane gesture, and Maureen’s pants are just...gone. She shivers a little at the sudden chill, and at the feel of Lucretia’s hands on her hips.

“Where—”

“Just Blink,” says Lucretia, and Maureen is pretty sure the spell doesn’t work that way, but Lucretia has an eerie way with magic, yet another thing she doesn’t explain, and honestly right now that’s not important. There’s a soft  _ fwhump  _ as Maureen’s pants materialize in a heap in the front seat. “Are you cold? I could—”

“Pull the door shut?”

“Of course,” says Lucretia, and before Maureen can tell her where to find the inner latch, the door closes of its own accord, and with it closed the air warms quickly. “Better?”

“Much,” Maureen says, her hands— too sweaty, almost trembling with nerves— reaching for Lucretia’s, their fingers intertwining. Lucretia pushes her shirt up with one hand, leaning forward to kiss Maureen’s belly and up her torso. Maureen almost flinches, thinking of her frumpy middle-aged body under Lucretia’s elegant hands, but Lucretia hushes her before the thought even solidifies in her mind, her breath warm on Maureen’s ribs.

“Beautiful,” she murmurs as she kisses the soft curve of Maureen’s breast, cupping the other one with her hand. Maureen’s gasp sharpens into a squeak as Lucretia’s other hand comes to rest on her pubic mound, her fingers just laying over the fabric of Maureen’s panties (plain, but at least they’re clean), and Maureen squirms under the combined effect of hands and mouth. Her own hands grip into Lucretia’s sleeves, and it’s maddening that she’s still completely dressed in all those layered robes she loves, all those soft shades of blue.

She whimpers Lucretia’s name, and Lucretia sighs a soft breath against her, then pulls her hand away, but only for the briefest moment before sliding back under the fabric. Her fingers slide against Maureen’s lips, and Maureen can’t help the soft mewling sound she makes, or the way her hips push up against Lucretia’s hand. And without pausing in her attention to Maureen’s breasts, her thumb drifts across Maureen’s clit— Maureen flings her head back, her eyes falling closed. 

She cries out, and she hopes it’s Lucretia’s name, but she’s incoherent and floating. Her whole body sings under Lucretia’s touch, self-consciousness melted in Lucretia’s hands, under her lips; she strains for more, more, more. And then more tips over into everything, she’s coming, with her cunt pulsing around Lucretia’s fingers, her clit throbbing under Lucretia’s careful touch. Lucretia pauses, holds very still as Maureen comes down from her peak, breathing hard. She puts an arm around Maureen’s waist and helps her up to sitting.

“Lucretia,” and when Maureen says her name, Lucretia smiles and it’s absolutely radiant— as radiant as Maureen feels right now, and she pulls Lucretia into her arms and kisses her cheeks and her forehead and then her lips. She hasn’t kissed like this— hasn’t kissed at all since...and she sighs, a little melancholy, but mostly contented.

“I haven’t done that in...a while,” says Lucretia, and  _ she’s  _ blushing. “I hope it was….”

Maureen laughs. “Gods, that was…. Yes. But  _ you’re still dressed,  _ Lucretia, how does that even happen?”

Lucretia’s chuckle in response is a little bit abashed, and she plucks at Maureen’s shirt which has fallen back down. “You’re not  _ totally  _ naked either….” She gently removes her other hand from Maureen’s panties. She appears to be on the verge of wiping them either on Maureen’s thigh or her own robe when instead, Maureen grabs her wrist, daring while she’s still floating from her orgasm, and sucks on Lucretia’s fingers. The gasp that follows makes Maureen giddy, as does the note of delight and surprise when she exclaims  _ Mo!  _

Maureen wants to chase those sounds, kissing Lucretia’s palm, pressing her lips against the pulse in Lucretia’s lips, and also balling up the skirts of Lucretia’s robe in her hand. She desperately wants to get through those layers, but Lucretia merely lays back with a smug smile, after giving Maureen a pat on the cheek with her damp hand. Maureen looks at her own pants in the front seat.

“Is that…? Could you…?”

Lucretia arches an eyebrow with the wickedest smile, unlike anything Maureen’s ever seen on her.

“It’s just a few robes, not even any buttons, surely a scientist of your caliber can work it out.”

Maureen frowns slightly, her tongue poking out as she looks at Lucretia with a mixture of annoyance, nerves, and lust, finally dropping to her knees in the narrow space between the bench and the front seats. Lucretia hums appreciatively, then sucks in a breath as Maureen pushes up her skirts.

“You’re not wearing anything under this!” she exclaims, as her hands skim up Lucretia’s thighs and Lucretia lifts her hips to allow the robes to bunch up around her waist. She kneels between Lucretia’s legs; Lucretia’s abandoned the pretense of ironic distance, and eagerly pulls off layers of cloth, which she tosses aside carelessly. 

“Who's to know?” says Lucretia. She winks, and Maureen is abruptly and completely intimidated. She sits back on her heels, her hands on Lucretia's knees for balance. 

“You know I haven't, there was, before Lucas's father, but we didn't—”

Lucretia leans forward, takes Maureen’s face in her hands, and kisses her. Maureen is utterly gone. Her hands slide up Lucretia’s thighs. 

“I think you'll be fine,” she says after breaking the kiss and again, to hear that rich voice roughened with want, to see Lucretia flushed and panting: heat rolls through Maureen in a cresting wave. Her hand continues up Lucretia’s thigh, and she reaches out to touch her cunt, to just lightly brush her thumb across the rosy folds of her lips. Her legs fall open.  _ Maureen,  _ she whispers, and then:  _ please?  _

And that sets a fire in Maureen’s chest, she wants to hear Lucretia beg and whine and cry, she presses her thumb into that softness until it pulses open. She’s so wet, and Maureen dips her head to lick, which draws out a barely audible moan. She licks up to the slick nub pushing up, and she’s not sure: she presses her lips against it, and at that Lucretia almost laughs. Maureen looks up, and Lucretia’s eyelids flutter, her mouth hung open, panting. Her breasts heave with the effort of her breathing, and when Maureen reaches to cup one breast, her thumb brushing across one hard nipple, Lucretia groans deep in her throat.

Then Lucretia threads a hand into her hair, pulling ever so slightly, the barest hint of guiding Maureen’s head back to her cunt, and that makes Maureen moan, her hands go to Lucretia’s hip and grab with the same intensity. She places her mouth on Lucretia, runs her tongue over Lucretia’s clit; she tests gently sucking, still uncertain but wanting, and then the reward of Lucretia’s cries, of Lucretia’s hand on the back of her head, pressing her closer. 

Maureen’s senses are flooded with Lucretia. Lucretia throbs in her mouth, Lucretia wet and hot and sour on her tongue, Lucretia’s thighs clenched against her, Lucretia’s hands on her head. Lucretia cries out her name, and Maureen moans against her, feeling her come apart, feeling her come. She chases that sensation with her mouth, gripping Lucretia tight against her, until the hands pulling her close instead, push her away, Lucretia tapping her forehead as she laughs— not the familiar low chuckle, but something bright and thready.

“Enough,” says Lucretia, and Maureen wants to say that it’s not enough, this will never been enough, but she knows what Lucretia means, and she finally sits back on her heels again. She can feel the tangles in her hair, the wet streaked across her chin, and she laughs; it’s almost a giggle, she feels that giddy.

“Your knees?” asks Lucretia, with a tenderness that bursts Maureen’s heart wide open.

Somehow Maureen finds her voice. “I’m okay,” although as soon as she says that she feels the tenderness there, and she crawls up onto the bench to curl against Lucretia. It’s just enough space for the two of them to cuddle together.

Lucretia strokes her back in slow circles, and Maureen sighs, contented. Lucretia laughs once more, and Maureen cranes her head to look at her, seeing that clever thinking smile, the woman who comes up with so many plans. Maureen’s startled to realize: she loves that smile. She loves Lucretia.

“We could add more padding to the floor...for ergonomics, you know?” She winks, exaggerated and playful; Maureen can’t help but laugh as she curls even closer, not yet ready to leave the private space of the (now slightly fogged) glass ball.

**Author's Note:**

> I guess? I'm developing my own Maurcretia timeline? Separate from @bluecoloreddream's amazing Quantum Entanglement? We'll see if I actually write any more, tho.


End file.
